


I'm Good Right Here...

by 74days



Series: Zimbits Meet-Cute Au's [6]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, First Meetings, M/M, Meet-Cute, Permanent Injury, broken ovens as a plot point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-24 06:09:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16634447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/74days/pseuds/74days
Summary: Jack likes his quiet, empty gym. It's peaceful and lets him work out without feeling like all eyes are on him. That all changes though, when one day he finds a very distracting blond man working on the weights...





	I'm Good Right Here...

The gym in Jacks apartment was great - it was located in the basement, had harsh lighting no matter what the time and the air-con was always just a touch too low. It was right by the laundry room so it always managed to feel a little… damp… and the elevator always rumbled up and down, making the place feel a little unsafe. And Jack loved it. Because all these little, tiny annoying things meant that hardly anyone ever used the gym in his building at all, and that suited him just fine. He was pretty much always guaranteed to get the place to himself no matter what time of day he managed to wander in. 

The hours he kept as a translator were weird - he often had to talk to publishers in Paris one day and Quebec the next. Knowing that when he was able to get a quick hour or so in the badly lit, cold, slightly damp basement gym that he wouldn’t have to worry about other people was a definite bonus. 

His mother would probably call him a hermit, but Jack enjoyed his lifestyle - the work gave him a  good sense of purpose and the deadlines gave him a thrill he didn’t get very often. And the fact that he could work from home was great especially since… well…

Jack limped into the gym, a towel over his shoulder and a pair of loose shorts thrown on over the top of his under armor. He’d brought a bottle of water and his phone, headphones already in his ears as he glanced around. Empty. Perfect. The light on the far left corner was still flickering every now and then, directly over the weights, despite Jack writing an email to the building supervisor to get it replaced. He rolled his eyes and his shoulders as he slowly made his way to the treadmill - there were two, and Jack preferred the older one because the readout screen was damaged and didn’t show him anything other than what level he had selected, which suited him fine. He didn’t want to be reminded of how little he could do now. He’d been given a strict PT regime when he’d first been released from the hospital, and he had religiously made time in his day for it until he realized that no matter what, he wasn’t going to make it back on the ice. He wasn’t just gonna sit out the season and be back “stronger than ever”, he was done. Retired. At 23 years old. And it wasn’t even his fault!

He winced as he climbed onto the walkway of the machine, already cursing himself for leaving it so long, and carefully set the machine to something he could ease into. He already has his headphones in to drown out the rumble of the elevator rumbling through the wall - an audio book on WWII that he’d been meaning to make the time to listen to - and started his slow and steady walk, hands gripping the bars just in case he stumbled. 

* * *

 

Jack wasn’t really sure when he zoned out - he was keeping a good pace, muscles slowly easing up as he walked on the machine, and the book was actually very interesting - but one moment he was listening to the soothing voice of the narrator, and the next thing he was aware that someone else was in the gym. His hands tightened on the bars as he tried to center himself - trying to keep his smooth rhythm going - while he glanced over at the first person he’d ever seen using the equipment. 

At first, Jack thought it was a teenager - maybe just dicking around on the machines so he could brag to his friends about how much he was able to ‘lift’ at the gym - but he quickly realized that he wasn’t as young as he first appeared, just a smaller built man, with blond hair and a red tracksuit. He was also wearing headphones and had his back to Jack, paying him no mind at all. He was using smaller weights, but Jack knew from experience that the single leg squats he was managing to push out meant that the weights were only there to tone. He wasn’t trying to bulk up, and as Jack watched from the corner of his eye - he also knew exactly what he was doing. 

Jack had spent a lot of his life in gyms surrounded by people who thought they knew how to work out. He’d personally had all his bad habits pointed out to him by several dedicated trainers who made it their job to whip a bunch of rowdy hockey prospects into shape. He’d seen guys try to lift too much and hurt themselves, seen people break machines or bones by not following instructions on proper use. But this tiny blond man had perfect form as he carried on pushing through his reps, getting so low on a single leg that his backside nearly hit the ground, weights never even wavering as he smoothly lifted back up. 

Jack was impressed. By the strength. Not by the backside. He felt himself turning a little pink as he faced back to the wall and focused on his own workout. 

He couldn’t though. He felt ridiculous, with his odd stilted gait, not going any faster than a grandma shopping on a Sunday. His shirt was already damp from this easy pace. He tried not to think about how it used to be, when he was probably lifting more than this little blond weighed, running 5 miles without even breaking a sweat. The feeling of healthy exhaustion and the ache of a job well done. Frowning, he pressed the stop button. There wasn’t any need for him to do a cool down - he’d never really made it out of the warm up anymore. 

The blond man had moved on to even more complicated variations as Jack limped away. He didn’t give any indication that he’d even noticed - music loud and thumping from his headphones even from where Jack was standing. 

* * *

 

“You can’t avoid the gym forever just because one time there was another person using it.” Lardo said, voice tinny from the laptop speakers Jack had plugged in for their Skype conversation. “That's peak rock lord, dude. We had a whole conversation about how you were trying to avoid becoming a rock lord.” 

Jack shrugged. He’d told Lardo about the guy in the basement gym because he knew that although she would make fun of him a little, she’d also understand - and she wouldn’t suggest something insane, like speaking to the guy next time. Jack liked Lardo a lot. It was morning where she was, the sun was hitting the back of her head and forming a halo around the buzzed sides, casting weird shadows on her face. He missed her a lot, but understood her need to be… somewhere far away. 

“Why don’t you just go down there at like, a different time? He probably will have some kind of job or something that means he won’t be there each time.” 

That made sense, actually, Jack thought, as they finished their conversation. Not everyone was able to use the gym whenever they wanted, because life got in the way. Jack just needed to make sure that he didn’t go back at the same time as before, and the problem would be solved! 

* * *

 

It was early when Jack hit the elevator button that would take him to the basement. He’d been up all night working on translating a crime novel into English and he’d lost track of time as he’d ended up sucked into the plot himself. It was actually a really good book, and he hoped that it did well in the US market. He’d loved the evocative way the author had of describing the atmosphere of back alleys and shady deals in the darkness. He’d have to remember to look up the author and see if they had other books he could read for fun, rather than work. 

Because he was thinking of his book, rather than paying attention to his surroundings, he was already half way into the gym room when he saw the blond man, wearing a red pair of shorts (Jack was trying not to notice how _short_ those shorts were, or how well those thighs looked in those short shorts) and a white t-shirt, looking at the running machine Jack normally used with an expression of bewilderment. It was the first time that Jack had seen his face, and he was shockingly grateful that he wasn’t on the treadmill this time, because he just knew he’d have fallen flat on his face. 

The blond man was beautiful. He had large brown eyes and slightly turned up nose that made him look probably a lot younger than he was. He had his bottom lip caught between perfectly white teeth as he pressed some more buttons on the treadmill and frowned when it obviously didn’t do what he expected. That was when he noticed Jack standing there, looking at him like an idiot. 

“Oh gosh!” The blond man half yelled, before pulling out his earbuds and looking guilty. “Um, I think I broke it? I know ya’ll were using it the other day so I know it was workin’, but then I tried to put in my settings and nothin’ is workin’ and I’m real sorry.” 

Jack blinked. He hadn’t been expecting that accent, southern and smooth. “It was always broken.” He managed, after a pause that even he knew went on too long. He was actually a little surprised at how he sounded, voice a little rough with disuse, his own accent stronger than it normally was due to the amount of French he’d been working with in the last few days. “Only the speed dial works.” 

“Thank the lord.” The blond said, placing a hand that was less delicate than Jack would have expected, on the treadmill screen. “I swear I thought I was cursed. I broke my shower and the darn waste disposal three days after I moved in and this was just the last straw.” He took a breath and smiled at Jack, who found himself a little lost in the warmth of the expression for a moment. “Listen to me just rattling on, I do apologize. I’m Eric Bittle. I moved into 210 just last week.” He held out his hand, and Jack thought it might be more of a reflex than anything, the way he pulled it back with a blush after realizing he was still holding his phone. 

“Jack Zimmerman.” He managed, after a breath. “Up on 403.” He didn’t hold out his hand, but he did try a smile, which seemed to make Eric smile even brighter. Jack didn’t want to think too hard about how that made him feel a little squirmy inside. 

“I just wanted to get a run in before work,” Eric said, stepping away from the machine. “But I’ve spent most of my time trying not to panic over that monster of a mechanical nightmare that I’m gonna be late.” He looked at Jack, those big brown eyes lingering for just a beat too long on Jacks face, which had that strange effect of causing him to blush just a little. He hoped the shorter man hadn’t noticed. “It was real nice to meet you, Mister Zimmerman.” He said, as he picked up his water bottle from where it had been sitting on the floor by the machine. 

Jack nodded. “Nice to meet you too.” He managed, as Eric left with a jaunty little wave. His shorts really were short, Jack found himself noticing. 

He wasn’t sure why, but as he stepped onto the machine, he found himself running over the whole conversation again, replying it as he walked. He tried not to think too hard about how good Eric had looked, his skin tanned and the slight dusting of fine blond hairs on those _criminally_ well developed thighs…

* * *

 

Jack was halfway through typing an email to his boss about the new project he’d been sent to review when there was a knock on his door - so soft that had he been wearing his headphones he certainly wouldn’t have heard it. Saving the draft, he slowly got to his feet, shuffling to the door. His leg was killing him after he’d moved it wrong stepping out of the shower that morning, half slipping on the tiled floor. Only his pride was stopping him for pulling out the cane he’d thrown in the back of his closet. He’d made himself a promise he’d never use it once he’d gotten out of his PT meetings. It took him a little longer to get to the door than normal, but when he looked through the little spyglass he was shocked to see a blond head pacing nervously outside. 

Unlocking the door, he couldn’t help the confused, “Eric?” that came out of his mouth at the sight of the shorter man.

“Oh lord, I swear I don’t normally make a habit of intrudin’ on folk I only met once.” Eric said, practically wringing his hands. 

“Okay?”

“My oven broke!” Eric practically wailed, looking like he was three steps away from breaking down in the hallway. “And I’ve invited everyone over to see my new place and show off that I’m an actual adult with a real job and _please-can-I-borrow-your-oven_?”

* * *

 

Eric didn’t just commandeer his oven, he took over the whole kitchen like a tiny demon, darting back and forward as he pulled utensils Jack didn’t even know he owned out of drawers and pans out of the back of cupboards. “Good lord, Jack, is this Le Creuset?” He exclaimed, holding up a pan Jack vaguely remembered was a moving in gift from his mother. “You’ve got the whole set!” He glanced up at Jack, who was sitting on the stool that Eric had ushered him into after 5 minutes of Jack hovering uncertainly and probably getting in the way. “It’s got dust on it.” He tisked, pulling out another pot. “I swear. My mamma and I have been wantin these since forever. We used to go to Atlanta and get into all the fancy stores and make up lists of all the things we were gonna buy.” 

Jack nodded. Eric didn’t need a lot of input when he started talking, which suited Jack just fine, because he never was good at holding a conversation, even with people he knew well. But after advising Eric that he was free to use Jacks kitchen, the shorter man had been keeping up a flow of chatter that Jack found not only comforting but very endearing. “Of course, we never did buy anything, we’d just walk around and act all fancy for the day.” He’d brought up three large pots from his own kitchen already filled and, he informed Jack, half way into cooking when the oven decided to stop working. “I knew I was testin it, with trying to use the top and pre-heat the oven at the same time, she’d been playin up since I moved in, but I thought it would get me through the evening.” 

Jack had nodded, sat himself down and watched as Eric seemed to turn the most basic of ingredients into dishes that filled the air with aroma that made Jacks mouth water, all the time keeping a comforting chatter going. 

Eric, Jack learned, had recently graduated from Samwell, a local college not far from Providence. He had gotten in on a hockey scholarship (which made Jack tense up for a moment before realising that Eric had no idea who he was) but ended up losing that after he’d been unable to get over his fear of taking a hit. “It wasn’t so bad, in the end.” He’d said, rolling out what Jack thought was pastry and turned out to be some kind of pie crust. “I got kept on as the team manager and ended up doing a lot of training with the team too - that's how I got this job.” He said, as he expertly laid a lattice that was so complicated Jacks eyes weren’t sure what they were looking at. “When coach Hall retired, he put my name forward as a replacement.” The pie was pushed into the oven. “It’s just part-time right now, so I supplement it with private skating lessons at the local rink as well.” He paused. “Turns out a lot of mammas will pay a lot of money to have a regional champion show their kids how to skate.” He shut the oven door and wiped his hands on the dishcloth that he’d tucked into his jeans. When he looked over at Jack, he smiled - and Jack had smiled back on reflex. “I hope I’m not driving you mad with chatter.” He said, after a few beats of silence. “I just sometimes get nervous and I talk too much.”

“I get nervous and don’t talk at all.” Jack said, which caused Eric to laugh.

“Well don’t we make a fine pair in that case?” He smiled, and Jack found himself nodding, aware that the grin on his face felt strange because it had been so long since he’d had anything to smile about. 

“You should come to dinner.” Eric said, after he had finished cooking. He’d had to make a couple of trips with the pots and pans back to his apartment, refusing to let Jack help. Jack wasn’t sure if it was because he was aware that Jack probably wouldn’t be able to carry the food and walk the distance, or if he was just being polite. “It’s just my old team. Most of them stayed pretty local - Rans is going to med school and Holster has like, some crazy job with spreadsheets where he makes more money than god. I think you’d get along with everyone - Chowder’s going back to California next week though, which I’m real sad about, but he’s got his dream job so you can’t really hold it against him.” He paused for breath and Jack was just about to refuse, to say he had to get back to work, even though it was a blatant lie, when Eric carried on. “And Nursey and Dex’ll be there, too, and… um… It would be nice. For you to come. To dinner.” A pause. “And then maybe we could _go-to-dinner-again-if-you-wanted_?”

Jack didn’t refuse.

* * *

 

“Holy shit you’re Jack Zimmerman!” A large blond man said as Eric opened his front door to a group of people. Jack had been hanging back to let everyone greet Eric, which involved a lot of hugging and yelling, but once that was over, he felt like every eye in the room was on him. 

“Yes,” Eric said, sounding firm. “He is, and he’s my guest so ya’ll better be polite or you won’t be gettin any pie, even though I made two.” 

A general cry of: “You can’t do that!” and “Thats against the Geneva convention!” erased any feeling of awkwardness in the room, and in no time at all, Jack was sitting at a table that Eric had obviously spent a lot of time setting, with a plate piled high with some of the best cooking he’d ever tasted. 

“I feel like I should know who you are.” Eric said, later - when his friends had left them to go and set up the TV to the playstation Eric hadn’t had the time to get plugged in, leaving the two of them to clear the table. “Chowder kept lookin at you like you were some kind of mirage.” 

“I used to play Hockey.” Jack found himself saying. For some reason it didn’t hurt like it normally did, when he admitted that it was in the past. “I was pretty good, but… I got into a bad car crash, drunk driver hit us and… um…” He waved a hand over his leg. “They didn’t think I was gonna be able to walk again, skating is definitely out.” He didn’t want to go into more detail, didn’t want to talk about what happened when he woke up and remembered the music that had been playing, the laughter in the car - how Lardo was in the back chirping them for how loud they were being. 

“Hey,” Eric said, pulling Jack away from his thoughts with his soft voice. “You’re here now though.” He placed a hand over Jacks, which he hadn’t even noticed had been shaking. “And I’m real glad that you are.” 

Jack looked into deep brown eyes and nodded. “Me too.”

* * *

 

“So you had dinner with a very cute boy and you met his friends.” Lardo stated, her eyes betraying the flat tone she was using. Her eyes were dancing. It was night where she was now, it looked like she was sitting out on a balcony. 

Jack nodded, picking at the skin beside his fingers. He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous to tell Lardo. He told her most things. 

“Course he met a cute boy,” A male voice said from off the camera. “My Jackabee gets all the cute boys.” 

“Shut up, Shits.” Lardo said, before looking back at Jack. “What’s he like?”

“Um, he’s got brown eyes and he talks a lot.” He paused. “He listens to pop music when he cleans and when he laughs his nose crinkles up. He bakes.” He was trying not to smile when he thought about Eric, but he knew he was failing. Knew from the way that Lardo was grinning at him. 

The camera was suddenly full of a shirtless man, pushing against Lardo to get as close to the camera as possible. There was a large scar, healing, but still very visible, down the middle of his best friends chest. “My baby! My child!”

“Shut up.”

“I want to meet him!” Shitty crowed. “I want to meet the man who stole my brahs heart.”

“He’s not here.” Jack said, laughing at the comical way his best friend wiggled his eyebrows. He thought it made him look teasing but mostly it made him look like he was being tazed. “And you are the worst. It was just dinner. He’s not stolen anything. Anyway, I’d introduce him to my parents before I’d let him meet _you_.”

Shitty’s laugh was so loud that it distorted the speakers Jack had plugged in, but he didn’t care. It was a sound he thought he’d never hear again. 

* * *

 

“Your best friend is called _Shitty_?” Eric said, as they walked to the car. Jack had worked up the courage to slip his hand into Erics once they’d left the restaurant and he was pretty sure that the way that Eric had smiled up at him as they walked, hand in hand, was a memory he was going to treasure for a long time to come. 

“Uh huh.” Jack nodded, “He’s in Prague right now. Lardo wanted to see the world for a bit.” He paused. “He wants to meet you.”

Eric smiled, squeezing Jacks hand a little tighter. “Well you let him know that once he’s back here I’ll make him any kind of pie he wants.”

“He might not be around for a while.” Jack pointed out.

Eric stopped at the car, pausing only to open the door for Jack. He did things like that all the time, held open doors and pulled out chairs. At first Jack thought it was pity for his bad leg before he realized with a pleased jolt that perhaps Eric had been trying to impress him. “Well I don’t plan on going anywhere, Sweetheart.” Eric said. “You?”

Jack smiled.

“No. I’m good right here.” he said, and knew he meant every word. 

**Author's Note:**

> I enjoyed writing this! I didn't go into a lot of detail with Jacks injury because I don't think I could do it justice in a shortform fic.   
> The prompt I used for this was : I'm at the gym and you are distracting me!
> 
> I wanted to try and get a bit more writing out but my 'loads of painkillers' I was on last week turned out to be because I had an ear nose and throat infection which I'm only *just* getting over now!
> 
> If you like this you can always buy me a kofi, or leave a comment, because I read them all and after having a bad week, it's the best feeling ever!   
> (also I was going to kill Shitty in this but I gave myself the sads and had to go back and change it!!)


End file.
